The
only time of seeing him, he had seemed to be a very shy raw lad;
but, 'poor fellow, we can make the best of him,' was the sentiment;
'it is only for one night.' However, we were dismayed when, as
Emily was in the crisis of washing-in a sky, it was announced that a
gentleman was asking for Mr. Winslow. Churlishness bade us despatch
him to the office, but humanity prevailed to invite him previously
to share our luncheon. Yet we doubted whether it had not been a
cruel mercy when he entered, evidently unprepared to stumble on a
young lady and a deformed man, and stammering piteously as he hoped
there was no mistake--Mr. Winslow--Prospect, etc.
Emily explained, frustrating his desire to flee at once to the
office, and pointing out his lodging, close at hand, whence he was
invited to return in a few minutes to the meal.
We had time for some amiable exclamations, 'The oaf!' 'What a
bore!' 'He has spoilt my sky!' 'I shan't finish this to-day!'
'Shall we order a carriage and take him to the office; we can't have
him on our hands all the afternoon?' 'And we might get the new
number of Nicholas Nickleby.'
N.B.--Perhaps it was Oliver Twist or The Old Curiosity Shop--I am
not certain which was the current excitement just then; but I am
quite sure it was Mrs. Nickleby who first disclosed to us that our
guest had a splendid pair of dark eyes.
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